


Wanna Hit Up A Pub?

by Leen_Moufti



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Clef and Konny are in this for a bit, Emails from the O5 committee, Gen, Glass is just stressed as hell in this, I'll probably update the tags as I update the story, Just two Foundation agents annoying Glass, and contribute to the long list of "things Glass needs less of in his life", consumption of alcohol in later chapters, pubs, well one email at the moment but you never know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leen_Moufti/pseuds/Leen_Moufti
Summary: As both a psychologist and therapist working for the Foundation, Dr. Glass has had to deal with a lot of things, ranging from loads of emotional baggage from people who contain eldritches for a living, to having his life threatened by his coworkers, to nearly being maimed, killed, turned inside out, or otherwise during containment breaches.These things were easy to put up with once he got used to them.Agents Lament and Dodridge? Not so much.Agents Lament and Dodridge continuously bothering him to hit up a pub with them after work one day?Annoying, but sounds harmless.In practice, not so much.





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Simon Glass looked at the two men sitting in front of him incredulously as though they had just told him that pigs could fly.

Agents Lament and Dodridge leaned back in their chairs idly, waiting expectantly for the psychologist to answer the question they had just asked him, though each of them thought they probably knew what he was going to say.

Glass' mouth hung open slightly as he blinked, the answer to the question automatically entering his mind before exiting his mouth.  
"N-no! Why would you even ask?!" Glass stammered, shooting Lament and Dodridge a flabbergasted look.

Dodridge, with his legs crossed over each other and his hands behind his head, lazily shrugged, having expected that answer, and glanced at Lament. He momentarily tilted his head towards Glass, signalling Lament to say something.

Disregarding any sense of professionalism, Lament rested an arm on the back of his chair and sprawled his legs out in front of himself.  
His green eyes half-closed and his black hair combed over his eyes, Lament raised an eyebrow and flashed an uncaring toothy grin.  
"Why not?" he asked, like some child feigning innocence despite having their hand caught in a cookie jar at 3 AM.

"You- you know why not!" Glass stammered again, his hands in front of him in confusion. "The last time you two did something like this, you nearly exposed the entire Foundation when decommissioning an SCP!"

"Well," Lament pointed out. "To be fair, we did decommission that SCP. With no casualties."  
"And we got promoted," Dodridge added.  
"By bringing an SCP with you a bar and letting people throw bottles at him?"

Lament wanted to interject, but closed his mouth mid-thought. He shook his head side-to-side in thought before nodding, the "Peanuts" incident fresh in his mind.  
"Yeah, basically," he chuckled, remembering how he and Dodridge had met and bonded over a simple decommissioning assignment.

Glass held his head in his hands as he let out an audible muffled sigh of exasperation.  
"I have said 'no' literally ever other time you two've asked me. Lament, Dodridge, for the fiftieth time, no! You can't get drunk!"

For nearly the entire month, Lament and Dodridge had barged into Glass' office every other day to ask a simple question: Can we get drunk?  
Seriously. That was how they asked it; not even paraphrasing the question. Every. Single. Time. And every single time, Glass said the same thing. No. Nope. Nopety-nope.

"Come on, Glass!" Lament piped up. "What could go so wrong? We did our jobs last time, and it's not like anyone outside the Foundation actually remembers that SCP or Skip, or whatever the heck it's called!"

"That's because we gave them all amnestics. Do you even realize how much that even cost? Including damages? Thousands of dollars! Who do think even paid for that?"

"The Foundation?" 

"Yes, the Foundation!"

"Geez, Glass, relax. It's not like we're gonna smash Chevys in the name of the Foundation or anything. We can behave ourselves!"  
"Come on, Glass! Pleeease?" Dodridge asked, extending the single syllable of the inquiry.

Glass let his head fall to his desk and he let out a muffled yell.  
Laments and Dodridge were, by far, the most aggravating people he had ever had to deal with. 

Why did they even continuously ask him, anyway? Why not just ask Bright, or Clef, or even Kondraki of all people? Either one of them would probably say 'yes.' 

But here he was, for the umpteenth time in a month, having the same conversation with Lament and Dodridge as he did every other time they came in.  
Glass wanted to say 'yes.' He wanted them to do whatever it was they planned to do. But not because he wanted them to have fun or anything. He just wanted them to leave him alone! 

He was already stressed enough as it was, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication. He didn't want to put up with Lament and Dodridge, but he also didn't want to get reprimanded if they did anything stupid or possibly detrimental to the level of secrecy the Foundation wanted to uphold.

But then again.... Lament and Dodridge coming in seriously disrupted his work schedule. His desk was currently paper-strewn with unfilled psychiatric evaluation forms, not to mention the stack of papers on the corner of his desk he needed to review before stamping and filing them.

He sighed again and raised his head to make eye-contact with Lament and Dodridge, who waited patiently for him to say something.

"Fine." he muttered in defeat, massaging his temples. 

Lament slowly sat up in straight in his chair, his dark green eyes wide with satisfaction and his mouth curled into a grin.  
"Really, Glass?" he innocently inquired.

"...yeah..." Glass mumbled, rubbing his eyes before looking longingly at his paperwork pile and yawning. "If anything happens, I'll just smuggle an incident report into Gears' paperwork for Iceberg to fill out."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Dodridge reassured confidently, leaning forward slightly and waving a hand dismissively. "I don't think you'll need to."

"Oh, really?" Glass asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why did you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, we didn't mean get drunk on duty."

Glass froze.

"What?"

"Yeah," Lament began. "We were thinking of maybe hitting up a pub on Thursday night after work."

"Should we go to that new one down the street from my place?" Dodridge asked Lament.

"Hmm. I don't know, I was thinking of heading out to the other place."

As Dodridge and Lament discussed their plan, Glass eyed the unfilled forms on his desk dejectedly. And then he looked at Dodridge and Lament.

Clearing his throat, he tried not to let his voice crack from stress as he spoke.  
"If you were planning to head out off-duty, why did you keep asking me?"

Lament heard the slight crack in his voice and nonchalantly answered. "We were wondering if you'd like to come with us."

At the sound of those last few words, Glass immediately stood up, every little sense of tiredness gone from his body and replaced with adrenaline. 

"Nope. No- no- no! Heck, no!" he yelled suddenly, slamming his hands on his office desk, sending papers flying everywhere.

Lament and Dodridge jolted up in their seats, startled by Glass' outburst. 

Before either of them could speak, Glass continued.

"Lament, Dodridge, whatever you two get up to when you're drunk is one thing. Me coming with you? That's another thing entirely. For my own safety and my bones remaining intact, I'm not coming with you. Not to mention all the work I have to do. Look at this mess!"

Glass slammed his hands on his desk again, sending more papers flying to the ground.

A few moments of complete and utter silence passed, save for the ticking clock on the wall.

Glass stared into Dodridge's and Lament's eyes.

"Why are you even asking me? Why not ask Bright or Kondraki or Clef, or even Iceberg? I know that at least three of them would say 'yes' to this."

"Bright's managing five sites at once, Kondraki's busy managing Site-17, Clef would probably start a bar fight and whack someone in the head with a broken bottle, and Iceberg is... mildly annoying." Dodridge answered.

"That doesn't answer my question," Glass pointed out, running a hand through his hair, tugging it backwards.

"Huh. You seem stressed," Lament noted as-a-matter-factly, eyeing Glass.

"You think?" Glass responded, slightly harsher than he meant to.

"Hey, it's not like you have anything better to do on Thursday night, right?"

"Yes, I do. All this paperwork."

"Something other than work, I mean. Come on, Glass, whaddya say?" 

"My answer is still 'no.'"

"But-"

"I said 'no!'"

Lament tried to ask Glass again, but failed to persuade him until Dodridge had an idea.

"Say, Glaaass," he started, leaning over Glass' desk and picking up a random psychiatric evaluation sheet.

"What are you-"

"All these psychiatric reports; they really weigh on you, don't they?"  
Dodridge slinked back into his chair and began to read the half-filled sheet. 

"Dodridge, give that ba-"

"Whoa, damn! That's a mess!" Dodridge announced as his eyes skimmed the words written on the sheet.

"Really? Lemme look!" Lament ordered, looking over Dodridge's shoulder. "Oh! Oh shoot! You really got your hands full, Glass!"

"You- you're not supposed to look at that! G- Give it back, now!" Glass stuttered, reaching for the paper while at the same time being pushed away by Lament's hand on his face.

"Dang, I bet the psych evaluations themselves weigh on you even more, huh?"

Glass paused. "Well, obviously, they do, but-"

"Didn't Rights whack you in the face with a lamp yesterday?"

Glass winced as he rubbed his swollen cheek and nodded.

"Based on that, and the periodical yelling and you screaming when someone comes in for a psych evaluation, I'm gonna make a wild guess that nothing usually goes as planned."

Glass hesitated before shrugging in acknowledgement.

"Right, so how about this: After work on Thursday, instead of doing all that paperwork, you can hang out with us and chill! Y'know, drink to forget and stuff!"  
Dodridge said that sentence with the enthusiasm of an innocent child.

Glass grew silent at those last few words before speaking once more.  
"So basically drowning my sorrows?"

"Ehh, kind of. Depends on how you look at it, I guess."

Glass inhaled sharply, his expression neutral and unchanged.  
"Lament. Dodridge."

"Yeah?" Lament asked, preparing to smirk in victory.

"Get out of my office!" he yelled, snatching the psychiatric evaluation form from Dodridge's hands.

The two startled agents nearly fell out of their seats as Glass continued.  
"Look, I've already made up my mind and 'no' means 'no!' Just get out and please stop bothering me!"

The tone of his voice, the two agents noted, seemed less like an angry outburst and more of an exasperated plea.

Glass took a quick glance at the clock on the wall as he made his way to the desk and grabbed a metal bucket from under it filled with a few sealed packets of food.

"I have to go feed Bloop. I don't have time for this!"

Glass shoved the agents out of his office and turned left to walk down the hallway while they went right.

"Dang it! Almost had him!" Dodridge uttered as they walked away.

"Ah, don't worry, I'm sure he'll come around soon," Lament assured. 

"Hey, Dods?"

"Yeah, Lament?"

"Who's Bloop?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here it is! My first-ever online-published SCP Foundation fanfiction. Heck, my first-ever online-published anything! Well, I hope you enjoy the story as I continue it, and I hope you have a good day/afternoon/ evening!
> 
> EDIT: Looking back on it the whole 'pigs could fly' thing is actually kind of plausible since this is the Foundation we're talking about


	2. Chapter 2

Glass rubbed his eye with his free hand and stifled a yawn, silently greeting his passing coworkers with a wave as he trudged down Hallway 5-B of Site-17.

Nearly bumping into a 447-2-soaked junior researcher as they ran by, Glass' mind occupied itself with the thought of the two agents' offer, and he sighed.

As unprofessional as it was, the offer did tempt him more than he would have liked.

For a man who had accomplished the feats of surviving multiple containment breaches, his life-threatening coworkers, and the impressive feat of lasting the longest out of all the other shrinks of Site-17, Glass was actually pretty normal, as strange as his survival and length of employment were.

Granted, calling those two things "strange" wasn't saying much, taking the other "human beings" who worked at the Foundation into consideration.

A body-switching immortal whose soul was trapped in an amulet, a man whose features were so incomprehensibly hideous that even the most expensive camera with the most refined lens could not discern those features in an image, an explosives fanatic whose body temperature was permanently under seven degrees Celsius, and a man whose demeanor made him seem more metal and oil than flesh and blood.

But, compared to everyone else in the world, Glass was pretty much just a regular 100%-made-of-flesh-and-blood human being.

And just like regular 100%-made-of-flesh-and-blood human beings, Glass felt things like fear, unsatisfaction, stress, exhaustion, and, of course, the need for some form of social interaction.

The last of those things was unfortunately more difficult to attain than the others, since Glass worked in the Foundation, where the person you shared a joke with one day might end up dead the next.

It was a grueling job, working for the Foundation, and some took to it better than others, though Glass was neither one of the others or those who took it too well.

But hey, he supposed. It could be worse. He could have been a D-class, or an MTF member. Or, even worse, one of 682's handlers. 

Still, though. Glass' job, while sounding like one of the easiest jobs a person could have in the Foundation, was a complete and utter nightmare.

Psychology itself was a field that piqued Glass' attention more than any other. 

Back when he majored in it in college, Glass found it completely wondrous how rather than acting like a simple machine programmed to work in one set way only, the human mind was like its own separate entity, in and of itself, continuously developing and adapting and protecting itself based on its surroundings and how it perceived the world around it.

Well, that was how Glass described in a psychology paper he was tasked with writing, but he did get a pretty high grade for it.

What also contributed to that high grade was something else he had written about. Something a bit more... worrying to those privy to psychology.

The most terrifying thing about the human mind was what happened to it when it couldn't adapt to its surroundings fast enough because it couldn't even comprehend them. 

Glass had seen it, and was all too familiar with it at his workplace. Men and women completely changed after exposure to just one mind-bending SCP, or witnessing the effects of other SCPs on their coworkers.

Commonplace incidents like these could take a toll on anyone's psyche, but those people couldn't just go to any random psychologist and start babbling about their experiences with eldritches and things that were not meant to exist. 

So, as a solution to that problem, they went to the Foundation psychologists. The most popular one to go to just so happened to be Dr. Simon Glass.

Now, Glass didn't blame those people for coming to him, (it was literally in his job description to help them) but hearing what they had to go through on a near-daily basis weighed on him more than a little.

As helpful as he was, though, Glass wasn't a saint. He was only human, after all. But the closest thing people could get as a solution to their problems was, surprisingly, a certain mind-affecting SCP.

Glass smiled as he turned the corner and thought about said SCP. In this facility of eldritches, anomalous entities, and things that weren't meant to exist, it was nice to know there was at least one thing that didn't pose a threat to the entirety of humanity.

It also happened to be Glass' source of stress relief, and the closest thing he had to a friend in the Foundation.

He stopped in his tracks when he found the door leading to its containment area, and greeted the assistant researcher standing by with a wave. 

Not looking up from his clipboard, the researcher raised up a single stationary hand in response and continued his work.

Glass scanned his keycard and the door to the containment area promptly opened in response, and slammed shut with a loud clang as soon as Glass stepped in.

"Bloop! Buddy! You here?" Glass called out as he set the bucket onto the floor. "I got you some lunch!"

He received no response but the echo of his own voice. Raising an eyebrow in confusion and running a hand through his hair, he called out again. 

"Bloop?"

As soon as the single syllable of the name left his lips, he heard a gurgly giggle from above himself, and barely had time to even look up before a large, oily mass dropped from the ceiling, enveloping his head as it tackled him to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand here it is! Chapter 2! First off, I'd like to say thank you to ZeeMastermind and the three guests who left kudos on the first chapter! Secondly, updates may be a bit slow since I have school, but I hope you enjoy the story as I update it. Thanks for reading!  
> EDIT AS OF FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7th: Thank you guys so much for 33 readers!


	3. Chapter 3

Is it were any other SCP that had fallen on Glass, he probably would have been screaming his head off. But he wasn't, because the SCP that had fallen on him was one of the safest, and one of the greatest that had ever been discovered by the Foundation.

Instead of screaming, Glass repeatedly banged his fist against the floor as SCP-999- or the "Tickle Monster" as it was more aptly referred to- tickled him, its giggles and his uncontrollable fits of laughter filling the entire room as the assistant researcher present passively scribbled some notes on his clipboard.

"H-hey, Bloop!" Glass laughed, "Time out- ha- time out! Time out!"

Bloop let out another giggle before leaping off of Glass and looking up at him expectantly as he sat up. Rubbing a tear from his eye and readjusting his glasses, he tickled the SCP under its chin, or rather, the protruding mass that was its head, and said, "Hiya, Bloop! How've you been, buddy?"

Getting an elated gurgle as a response, Glass chuckled and reached for the bucket he had set down earlier, and began opening the packets it contained, releasing from each one a sweet-smelling odor.

"I got you some lunch!"

Halfway through that sentence, Bloop had already stuck its head into the bucket, and Glass watched in awe as M&M's, Oreos, skittles, and necco wafers were absorbed into its brightly-colored, gelatinous body.

It was nice to be able to come visit the sentient little blob of slime whenever he could, Glass thought. It was a bit odd, the general concept of being friends with such a thing, but then again, the lines between what he considered odd and what he considered normal were nonexistent by this point, so who was he to say anything about it?

Just as Bloop was about to finish its meal and tackle Glass for another one-sided tickle-fight, Glass was addressed by someone else in the room.

"Dr. Glass?"

Glass looked up to see the assistant researcher from earlier towering above him, an apathetic expression that could probably use some exposure to SCP-999 on his face.

Glass stood up, but the assistant researcher was still at least a foot taller than him. Feeling self-conscious about his height and wanting to get whatever conversation he was about to have over with quickly, he responded, "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"No, sir. You've simply been called to conduct a psychiatric evaluation of Dr. Kondraki and Dr. Clef."

Glass frowned in dismay.

"Now?"

"Now."

"But I just-"

The assistant researcher raised an eyebrow as Glass giggled mid-sentence, before noticing that SCP-999 was rubbing itself against Glass' leg. It caught sight of his glance and moved aside so Glass could continue.

Glass cleared his throat and nodded, before continuing, "But I just had them in yesterday."

"Which was three hours before they thought it would be funny to attempt to stick Dr. Bright in 682's containment chamber as a practical joke."

"They stuck Bright in with 682?"

"No, they stuck a newbie they thought was Bright in with it instead. Point is, O5s got annoyed and want them evaluated again this month."

Whatever stress relief SCP-999 had provided Glass with was completely gone when the researcher said those words.

SCP-999 seemed to sense this, but before it could hug Glass or rub against his leg again, he looked down at it with a forced smile.

"Sorry, Bloop. Duty calls."

He and the researcher exited the containment area as SCP-999 went back to its meal with a gurgly whine.

"Well, I better get- ack!"

Glass felt the back of his head hit the wall hard as the researcher shoved him against it, pinning his shoulders to the wall.

"Listen here, Glass," he hissed, "I'm going to tell you this once, and only once. Stop getting attached to that SCP."

"What? Why?"

"That little 'Bloop' of yours has taken a shine to you, Glass. It likes you- no, it loves you. A bit too much, now that I think about it."

"T-too much? What-"

"Stop hogging it to yourself, Glass. You saw what happened in there. It went over to you when I came in. It didn't giggle when it saw me. It didn't tackle me. It didn't hug me like it hugs you."

Glass could only look up into the researcher's eyes with slight fear as he spoke. He let out a semi-restrained pained grunt as the researcher applied more pressure to his shoulders and lifted him a few centimeters above the ground, and the researcher continued.

"When it sees you, it doesn't think, "ooh, a person that needs cheering up," it thinks, "ooh, _the_ person that needs cheering up." Like I said before, you're hogging it."

"But it likes everyone! Not just me!" Glass found the courage to say before he was glared at.

"It likes you the most. I'm gonna make this clear, Glassy."

The researcher moved closer to Glass, whose breathing began to quicken. He could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead as the researcher's hot breath came in contact with his face and fogged up his glasses.

"Stay away from something that's mine or else you'll regret it."

"'S- Something that's yours?'"

"Something that's mine and others', I said," the researcher backtracked without missing a beat. He looked straight into Glass' hazel-brown eyes.

"Do you understand?"

"I- I-"

"Assistant Researcher Casey Warner."

Both Dr. Glass and the researcher looked up at the PA speaker mounted to the wall as whoever was using it spoke again.

"Assistant researcher Casey Warner, please report to Dr. Bright's office on the third floor immediately, and stop threatening Dr. Glass."

The voice repeated the phrase once again, and it was then that Glass took note of the security camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling recording their every move.

"Saved by a security camera," Warner mumbled, letting go of Glass, who fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Glass stayed where he was, sprawled out on the floor, dazed and uneasy. As Warner's soles clicked against the linoleum floor tiles while he walked away, Glass took the time to catch his breath, and shakily got up to his feet once the same voice from the PA speaker announced, "Dr. Glass, please report to your office, immediately. Dr. Clef and Dr. Kondraki are scheduled to be psychiatrically evaluated in three minutes."

Glass mentally prepared himself for another encounter with Kondraki and Clef, thinking as he made his way to his office, "Time for two hours of absolute hell."

 

 

The good news was that Dr. Glass only had to endure _one_ hour of being in the same room as Kondraki and Clef.

The bad news was it only took an hour because it was a _joint_ psychiatric evaluation that left Glass wondering if the higher-ups were trying to get him killed via Kondraki's wrath or Clef's unpredictability.

He was seriously considering that possibility as he internally debated just sticking red and white targets onto the wall behind his desk instead of getting someone to fill in the shotgun shell holes Clef had gifted him in the past hour with plaster.

Some metal polish and a cleaning kit for Kondraki would also suffice, as he wasn't very fond of having to hide under his desk when Kondraki wanted to show off his D-Class-stained sword, and "show Glass how sharp it is."

It was, in fact, quite sharp, considering that Glass had spent the first ten minutes of the evaluation trying to pry it out of his desk after Kondraki stabbed it with the sword.

Putting Clef and Kondraki in the same room together was comparable to an idiot trying to light illegal fireworks on the Fourth of July: It was dangerous, a stupid idea, and was no good for anyone involved or within a three meter-radius.

Case in point, near the end of the interview, Clef somehow nabbed Kondraki's camera while Glass was talking to him, which set off a chain reaction.

Kondraki swiped Clef's ukulele in retaliation, held it over Glass' desk, pointed his sword at Clef, and threatened to smash the ukulele against the desk, _or Glass' head_ , he added two seconds later.

Clef dangled the camera above the ground, saying he was considering dropping it to see how fragile it was, and then picked up his shotgun with one hand and aimed it at Glass.

"Smash the uke and say goodbye to the shrink, Konny!" he said.

"Idiot! If you shoot Glass, we'll both get in trouble!" Kondraki had responded.

At that point, Glass had attempted to slowly back away from the barrel pointed at his face, but Clef, as it appeared, wasn't having it, because he told Glass, "Stay right where you are, Glassy. Let's see what Konny does."

For about five minutes, Glass was involuntarily part of a Mexican standoff until Clef took a look at his watch, said, "You know what? Screw this," and dropped the camera, but caught it by the neck strap just before it could hit the ground.

Before he caught it, however, Kondraki slammed the ukulele onto Glass' desk, sending splinters flying everywhere, and tossed it aside before he lunged at Clef with his sword in hand, as Glass ducked to avoid getting a shotgun shell to the face.

The shotgun shell hit the wall behind Glass, sending plaster dropping onto his head as he crouched on the ground.

Clef turned the desk over in his struggle with Kondraki, which then led to Kondraki accidentally stabbing his sword straight through it, leading to a yelp from Glass when the tip of the blade came an inch away from his face while he was pressed up against the wall.

Kondraki's head popped up above the overturned desk, and he raised an eyebrow while casually asking if Glass was okay as Clef took a moment to admire the new hole he had made in the wall.

Glass took a quick glance at the clock on the wall and then blabbered, "Would-you-look-at-that-the-interview's-over-you-can-leave-now-BYE!"

Glass didn't even have to shove them out of the room like he did with Lament and Dodridge; Clef and Kondraki simply grinned like the madmen they were and slammed the door on their way out, leaving Glass with a damaged wall, plaster in his hair, a broken ukulele, a stabbed desk, and his life shortened by three years.

After they had been gone for a few minutes, Glass lifted up his desk with some difficulty and leaned back in his chair, heaving a heavy sigh of relief that Kondraki and Clef were gone.

He noted the remains of the broken ukulele on the floor and picked it up, examining it as he gingerly stroked the splintered wood of what had once been a fine instrument.

When Clef wasn't the one playing it, Glass enjoyed the sound of a ukulele's strings being strummed by a skilled musician. He frowned at the instrument's condition, specifically its lack of half of its soundboard, and thought glumly, "What a waste of-"

His body tensed and he reflexively held the broken ukulele over his shoulder like a baseball bat when the sound of the doorknob of his office being jiggled met his ears.

Whoever was on the other side of the door ceased jiggling it, and Glass' heart rate regulated only slightly until he heard their voice.

"'Ey, Dr. Glass? You in here?"

Oh, damn it.

"Come in, Agent Lament," Glass reluctantly responded, feeling the need to keep the ukulele over his shoulder.

Lament opened the door and practically strolled in, but froze midway through entering when he saw the absolute state of the office.

His facial expression looked more unpleasantly surprised than shocked, and he asked, after taking a good, long look around, "What the hell happened in here?"

"Clef and Kondraki," Glass simply stated, leaning back farther in his chair.

"Dang, I thought Rights and Bright were bad when they came in. Anywho," Lament paused as he walked over to Glass' desk, before continuing, "I wanted to ask you about- hey, do you smell cinnamon?"

Glass raised his eyebrows and took in a whiff of the air. It did, in fact, smell like cinnamon. He looked into what was left of the broken soundboard and his brow furrowed.

"What in the world?"

"What's wrong?"

"Clef... glued cinnamon twists to the inside of his ukulele."

"Why?"

"It's Clef; of course he would do that."

Lament reached over the desk to try and pry off a cinnamon twist from the inside of the soundboard.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hungry," Lament explained.

"You'll get food poisoning," Glass responded, pulling the ukulele away from Lament's reach and setting it down on the floor behind him.

Half of Lament's body was on the table as he tried to reach the ukulele without completely going over the desk.

"But I'm hungry..." he mumbled like a dejected child.

"I'm sure they have something else you can eat in the cafeteria, Lament. _Anyway_ ," Glass said, gently pushing Lament off his desk, "you said you wanted to ask me something."

"Oh, right!"

Lament picked up a chair that had lying on the floor and sat in it, one leg over the other.

"Okay, first of all, the way Dodridge and I asked you to hit up a pub with us probably wasn't the best way to ask, but-"

"I said no."

"Lemme finish- Anywho, so me and him were thinkin' that if you came with us, you could maybe add one or two of your own conditions."

"Explain."

"Right, so let's say you're thinking 'Hey, what if I'm not having a good time? What if I wanna leave?' If you don't enjoy yourself within the first hour of us being at some place, me and Dods will drive you home, no questions asked."

Glass actually took this into consideration, but before thinking of an answer, he studied Lament's face to gauge what his reaction would be to whatever answer he gave.

Lament did not have an expectant smirk of victory on his face like the last time, but rather a neutral expression on his face that seemed more or less apathetic.

Glass decided to give him his answer, but first he asked, "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why are you two asking me to go out with you to the pub?"

"Why did you say no when we asked you last time?" Lament changed the subject.

"What- Lament, you didn't-"

"You didn't tell us why you said no when we asked before," Lament continued, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, the idea of hanging out with one of the same people who lured 096 into my old office at Site-11 doesn't sound like the best idea, does it?"

Glass didn't mean to sound as harsh as he did when saying this, but then again, he couldn't exactly say it with fondness.

Lament froze, opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, remained silent for a few moments, and then admitted, "In hindsight, that was a really stupid idea-"

"While I was in it."

"We didn't know you were asleep in it!" Lament protested, raising his hands in defence.

"Why did you lure it into _my_ office?"

Lament grew silent and his cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of red. _Because it was the closest office and everyone onsite were panicking and the skip was eventually gonna get its face seen and everyone wanted me to do something because I'm the recointainment specialist_ , he wanted to say. But for whatever reason, he simply shrugged, looked down at his feet, and mumbled, "I don't know. It was a stupid idea."

A minute of awkward silence passed between the two men, until Lament asked, "Hey, do you miss working there?"

"At Site-11? Ehh, not really," Glass answered bluntly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know; Site-17 seems... safer, I guess?"

"Really? Didn't Clef and Kondraki just come in and do... whatever the heck it is they did?"

"Yeah, but there are way less containment breaches here than at Site-11."

"Huh... Me and Dodridge are actually getting sent back there in a month."

Glass nearly jolted upright in pleasant surprise. A month? That was music to his ears!

"A month? Just... one month?"

"Yep! Back to making sure no idiot accidentally gives that fire man skip too much fuel again!" Lament chuckled, remembering SCP-457.

Noticing that Glass' mood was improving, he asked the question he had been waiting to ask again.

"So, Glass! With the added condition I mentioned, do you wanna come with us?"

Glass' train of thought supplied him with his answer, and so he said, "Maybe," before mentally slapping himself in the head for not saying "no."

"You leaning more towards a yes or no?"

"Not sure, actually," Glass answered. _No, Glass. You're leaning towards the no. Why didn't you say that?_

"Welp! It's better than a no!" Lament said, standing up suddenly and clapping his hands once. He took out a small scrap of paper from his pocket and placed it on Glass' desk.

"In case you decide soon, here's my number so you can call me. See ya, Glass!"

And with that, Agent Lament left Glass' office.

Glass took a closer look at the scrap of paper. Lament's handwriting was extremely messy, but somewhat discernible, and it looked as though he had torn off the scrap and then tried to scribble his phone number on it, rather than the other way around.

Nevertheless, Glass had the opportunity to call Lament if he desired, so he pocketed the scrap of paper and-

An email notification from his computer grabbed his attention, and for a moment, he was glad that it was placed on a separate desk until he read the email he had received. It was sent from O5-13, and it read:

"Dear Dr. Simon Jacob Glass,

We regret to inform you that for research purposes, SCP-999 will be permanently moved to Site-19 within the next two weeks.

While the research scheduled to be conducted is mostly classified and above your clearance level, what you can be informed of is that the research will, in no way, shape, or form, be damaging or harmful to SCP-999.

Normally, we do not inform staff of any SCP transfers in this manner. Rather, we schedule Public Announcements to be broadcasted onsite a week before the scheduled transfer. The reason we are informing you in this manner is due to your use of SCP-999, which, according to Site-17 staff, you interact with after conducting psychiatric evaluations.

We are aware of your difficulties when conducting psychiatric evaluations (including with Site Director Dr. Kondraki and Dr. Alto Clef), and sincerely apologise any difficulties that you may face after SCP-999's subsequent transfer.

Due to unrelated circumstances, SCP-1230 is also scheduled to be transferred to Site-17, also for research purposes. After being psychiatrically evaluated yourself, you will be granted weekly access to it following SCP-999's transfer.

Rest assured that SCP-999's transfer is unrelated to your earlier incident with Assistant Researcher Casey Adam Warner.

We apologise for your inconvenience, and we thank you for your continued service to the Foundation.

We secure. We contain. We protect.

Sincerely, the O5 committee."

 

Glass' body was so perfectly still after reading the email, that one would think him dead had it not been for his chest rising and falling.

He had to read it twice just to make sure that he hadn't misread a single line or imagined the entire email.

Glass had no idea how long he had been blankly staring at his computer screen, but by the time he had forced himself to look away, it was time for him to go have dinner at the site cafeteria, though he planned on simply ordering a meal to eat in solitude in his office as he did not feel like interacting with his coworkers.

He noticed his glasses had fogged up, and took them off, before realising that he had been crying.

He sniffed, wiped his bloodshot eyes, and was about to order a meal via the phone in his office when he noticed that the slip of paper Lament had given him was poking out of his pocket.

He laid the paper flat on the table and squinted to read the sequence of numbers scribbled on it.

Glass hesitated before making his next action. Should he...? He wondered.

He took one last glance at the email.

"I don't see why not. Not like I have anything to lose. Might be 'fun.'"

Those words were the only ones in Glass' mind as he took out his personal cell phone and dialled Lament's number.

It rung once. Twice. Thrice. Lament picked up before it could ring the fourth time.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Lament. It's Glass."

Glass swallowed and closed his eyes.

"My answer is yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is here! I'd like to thank SpasticCat and the guest who left kudos on chapter 2, and thank you for 51 hits! (The 52nd one was me because I forgot to log in on another device when checking how the story looked. Still, though, again, thank you!)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, here it is! My first-ever online-published SCP Foundation fanfiction. Heck, my first-ever online-published anything! Well, I hope you enjoy the story as I continue it, and I hope you have a good day/afternoon/ evening!
> 
> EDIT: Looking back on it the whole 'pigs could fly' thing is actually kind of plausible since this is the Foundation we're talking about


End file.
